


According to Plan

by scribblemoose



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:25:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/pseuds/scribblemoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of silliness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	According to Plan

In a world where most of Merlin's waking hours were consumed with duties of one kind or another, the rare times when Gaius sent him off to look for forest dittany were often the most welcome; in fact it felt more like an afternoon off than a chore. This was mostly because the dittany only grew in the depths of the forest, and harvesting it guaranteed Merlin a couple of hours alone. More specifically, it allowed Merlin time far enough from Camelot to take certain risks.

It was also one of the most beautiful places Merlin had ever found. The place where the dittany grew was a tiny clearing - in fact not even that, more just a gap in the trees - served by the narrowest of paths. The trees were strong and tall; tiny wildflowers flourished in leaf-dappled sunspots, and the smell of earth and life and growing things, old and new, was everywhere. Merlin came to think of it as the Grove, even though it was just part of the forest, really.

The patch of dittany renewed itself rapidly. However often Gaius sent him, there always seemed to be plenty more the next time. It was a versatile plant: Gaius used the flowers, the leaves, even bits of root sometimes. It was also very pretty, sprinkling the forest floor with tiny blue star-shaped flowers with deep gold middles, bedded in rich green leaves and tiny vines that curled around roots and twigs and other plants - not strangling them, just very gently hanging on.

The path to the dittany patch wasn't necessarily safe. Forests were always a haven for robbers and bandits and random parties of invaders. Merlin was as careful as he could be, kept to the dark, hidden places and where necessary used magic to conceal himself or lead his enemies away. Unlike walks with Arthur through mildly dangerous places, which tended to end in sword-clanging violence (on Arthur's part) and covert partial deforestation (on Merlin's), he found that he could make his own way reasonably drama-free, with a combination of speed and sneaking.

But once he got to the Grove, he knew he wouldn't be disturbed.

He knew this because several months ago he'd found the protection spells in the book of magic, and he'd woven them through every branch, every twig, every leaf, through the very earth itself. Merlin could see the spells still when the sunshine fell just right, faint golden threads twinkling here and there, but all anyone else would see would be nothing. Not nothing as an absence of spells, just nothing interesting. No big 'do not enter' signs, no scary guardian monsters (Merlin had spent enough time with Arthur and his Knights to know that such things were a positive attraction to some people rather than a deterrent). To outsiders the grove looked like a boring, dense patch of forest that there was absolutely no point in penetrating.

And there, in the one tiny place in all the world that Merlin felt accepted him, Merlin climbed up into a favourite branch, and closed his eyes, and smiled.

*

Merlin had had many of his best ideas in the Grove. Like the spell for removing wine stains from Arthur's favourite suede hunting jacket. Or that birthday present for Gwen. He'd covered a shift for the stable hand, who could then enjoy an afternoon with his sweetheart, who happened to be the daughter of the cousin of the best leatherworker in the kingdom, who made Merlin the most beautiful needlecase imaginable, with Gwen's name etched into the soft leather. (The fact that no needle put in the case would ever blunt or break was purely down to Merlin and an intense evening's research, however.)

The expression on Gwen's face when he'd given her this gift was one of the things Merlin treasured in his heart forever. Gwen was so selfless, so touched when anyone did anything nice for her. It was one of the things he loved most about her.

Of course, Merlin spent a good deal of time in the Grove thinking about Arthur. Some of these thoughts were less than forgiving and many involved using the kind of language that really wasn't suitable in polite company. Very occasionally he indulged a moment of pride in some particular aspect of humility or nobility that Arthur had exhibited (or relief that Arthur had managed to just not be a prat for ten minutes). But some of Merlin's thoughts - more of them as time went on, he had to admit - were appreciative of Arthur in rather more indulgent and exciting ways. It was there on that branch, feeling the bark rough and warm against his body, the power of the earth surging through the living tree that held him, that Merlin first realised that he harboured intentions towards Arthur that were neither violent, nor protective, nor pragmatic.

It was lying there surrounded by birdsong and green things and magic that Merlin realised he wanted Arthur naked, or clothed; in Arthur's chamber, or in a castle alcove; lying down or standing up; or all of those things, or it didn't matter which, or....

It was lying there cradled in the limbs of the great tree that would have laughed if trees could laugh*, that he realised he wanted to have sex with Arthur.

He spent so long trying to work out how he could make it happen that the forest grew dark, and by the time he'd got back to Camelot Gaius was on the verge of sending out a search party for him.

Fortunately no-one was ever surprised to hear that Merlin had got lost in the forest.

  


* * *

  


  
*Merlin found out much later that trees could, in fact, laugh, and you could hear it if you knew what to listen for. It's deep and rumbly and goes right to their roots, and it really plays havoc with the hearing of moles. Which explains why sometimes you see molehills erupting in such odd places, all at once overnight, in completely random patterns. Wherever you see that tell-tale pile of dirt, a tree has heard a good joke. (Well, a good joke for trees - it took Merlin a while to tune into it. They have a very odd sense of humour as things that live a long time and know what survival really means often do.) But that was later, and back then Merlin didn't know any of this. Although he did often wonder about the moles.

*

Merlin usually only needed one good idea at a time, because his optimistic nature always led him to believe that his best idea would work, and therefore there wasn't much point spending ages working out a back up. It did mean that his mistakes were often spectacular, but it helped a lot with magic. The most important part of magic was the force of conviction. It could come from passion, despair or sheer bloody-minded determination, but you had to really, really mean it. No feints, no parries. Just whatever was in your heart.

So, Merlin worked out his plan to seduce Arthur with a conviction worthy of magic, and put it cheerfully into practice.

The first plan resulted in a rather unfortunate misunderstanding with some flowers and a kitchen maid, although it had led to a rather pleasant afternoon in one of the pantries, and Merlin reasoned that until he had actually seduced Arthur he was still free to do as he liked and the maid was particularly pretty.

The second plan resulted in a very embarrassing episode where Arthur, disgusted with the frailty and puniness of his servant, had dragged him back to Gaius and demanded that the physician give Merlin some of those smelling-salts he dispensed to ladies at court prone to fainting, and while he was at it, Gaius should make Merlin eat more, because really, he was going to be no good to Arthur if he kept passing out everywhere.

Due credit to Gaius, who showed impeccable control in not telling Arthur that Merlin ate like a horse to the point Gaius wondered where he put it all, it wasn't his fault it didn't show, Merlin was just _built_ that way. Neither did he so much as quirk a cynical eyebrow at Merlin's sudden predisposition to fainting, at least until Arthur had gone and he was feeding Merlin a particularly disgusting potion.

Apparently, seducing Arthur Pendragon was rather more complicated than Merlin had at first thought. If making him jealous didn't work, and accidentally-falling-on-him didn't work, Merlin was suddenly out of options.

So Merlin set about watching Arthur closely, in the hope of getting a fresh idea.

It was only when he set about doing it deliberately that Merlin realised how much time he spent watching Arthur anyway, as a matter of course. But he put his surprise aside for now, and got on with his quest. There would be time to make sure he wasn't watching Arthur when he'd finished seducing him.

Much of Arthur's life involved Doing Things. There was a lot of striding about, fighting, stretching, yawning; really, a _lot_ of striding about, and riding. Sometimes a bit of running. Whenever Arthur wasn't moving there was the potential for movement always about him, like a big cat, muscles calm but supple and ready to spring into action in a second. Even when he was sleeping, Arthur moved, rolling onto his stomach, his side, his back, onto his stomach again.

Merlin felt a little bit creepy about watching Arthur sleep, and he didn't stand there all night or anything, he just sort of noticed from time to time when he was in Arthur's room for perfectly innocent reasons. But. The point was that Arthur was a man of action. So it only made sense that to win his, well, loins, Merlin would have to be a man of action too.

A direct approach was most definitely the order of the day.

*

Merlin paused for a moment outside Arthur's door, tray balanced carefully in one hand, and took a deep breath. The heady aroma of cinnamon swirled from the mug on the tray; cinnamon and nutmeg and honey in rich, deep, red wine. One of Arthur's weaknesses. Merlin had watched him many times, savouring and relishing it. He'd seen the way the spices seeped warmth into Arthur's muscles and how the alcohol relaxed him. So often that just the smell of spiced wine made Merlin feel quite mellow himself.

He let his breath out as slowly as he could, and opened the door.

"Arthur," he said, firmly, as he crossed the room. "There's something I want to-"

Merlin stopped in his tracks. Arthur was sitting on the table, one foot propped on a chair, a dagger dangling from his thumb and forefinger. He was watching the point swing back and forth, until he lifted his head to look at Merlin.

There was no hint of a smile, or even a sneer. He didn't tell Merlin off for not knocking. He looked troubled; deeply, deeply unhappy.

"Arthur?" Merlin said, softly, all thoughts of sex forgotten. "What's the matter?"

"Merlin." Arthur sat up straight, gathering his authority. "Nothing's the matter."

"Are you sure?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"You look troubled, Sire."

"I'm fine. Is that my wine?"

"Oh! Yes!" Merlin held out the tray, and Arthur picked up the goblet. He stared into the ruby liquid, running one finger around the goblet's rim.

Merlin put the tray down at the other end of the table, where he started to stack Arthur's used dinner things onto it. Arthur hadn't eaten much at all.

Merlin put the plates aside and stood next to Arthur, leaning against the table. "You can trust me," Merlin said softly. "If you want to talk."

Arthur tried to give him a withering look, but his heart wasn't in it. "It's my father," he said, his shoulders slumping a little in defeat.

Merlin waited, patiently.

"I've been visiting the outlying villages," Arthur said, in his quiet, steady voice, the one Merlin always felt was Arthur's _real_ voice. "It'll be winter soon and with all the rain we had this season, I wanted to make sure everyone's got enough supplies to see them through."

Merlin couldn't help but smile.

"Most of the villages should be fine, they've managed a decent harvest and the stores are good, but in this one village, Tamur, they... I don't know why, I think the head of the village is a bit of an idiot, or it might be that he likes the mead they brew up there too much, I don't know what it is. But they've got nothing. He's been visiting some council of chieftains in the northern Kingdoms and gambling, and he's quite ruthlessly gambled away everything they have, every ounce of grain, wool, everything. Even the animals."

"That's terrible," said Merlin.

"He'll be punished, of course. He's in the dungeons as we speak."

"You're worried Uther will be too harsh on him?"

Arthur shook his head. "The law's quite clear, if he's guilty he should hang. He had responsibilities and trust, and he violated...." Arthur grimaced; his disgust at the man's neglect of his people clear and sharp. "But Father's gone further than that. He's ordered that the village be cut off; that no-one should help them and they should be left to starve as punishment for foolishness." Arthur gulped down his wine all in one go.

Merlin put aside his own flare of anger and instead of marching downstairs and showing Uther just what _fucking_ starvation felt like, he said to Arthur, "that's not fair."

Arthur shook his head. "No, it isn't. You know, I wish I didn't know. I wish I hadn't gone out there, I wish I hadn't told father what I found and most of all, I wish it was me, I wish I could be...."

He stopped himself, but Merlin had no trouble filling in the blanks. _I wish I could be King_. Except that would mean his father would be dead, and Merlin knew that for all Uther's faults, and for all that Arthur's awareness of them was growing by the day, Uther was still his father and Arthur didn't want him to die.

Merlin thought, fast. "So he's going to cut them off completely? No contact with Camelot for the whole winter?"

"That's right," said Arthur, bitterly. "Effectively they won't be part of the Kingdom anymore."

"But if they survive the winter..."

"Then they get _graciously_ admitted back in the Spring. If anyone does survive." Arthur turned his head to look at Merlin, his eyes so blue and honest and hurting for his people that Merlin's mouth went dry and his chest ached a little. "It's really bad up there, Merlin. They've got nothing. I don't know if any of them _can_ survive."

Merlin put a gentle hand on Arthur's arm, and smiled encouragingly at him. "Sounds like we have a trip to make tomorrow then. Shall I get the horses ready for dawn? Maybe a cart or two?"

Arthur's eyes went wide.

"I don't think you've been to the village of Wintergreen yet, Sire, have you?" said Merlin "I've heard some terrible rumours about food shortages there, too. No fault of their own. Some magical, um, creature or such destroyed their crops. We really should take them enough supplies to last the winter."

"I've never heard of the village of Wintergreen."

Merlin wore his best innocent expression. "Really, Sire? Well, they're very quiet up there on the Northern borders. Don't like to complain. Very loyal and worthy, Sire. And if we happened to be passing Tamur on the way and a few things fell off the back of the cart...."

Realisation dawned, and Arthur's face broke into a huge grin. "Merlin! I never knew you could be so devious!"

Merlin resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. "It's just an idea, Sire."

"No, really, Merlin." Arthur's serious tone was back, his arm around Merlin's shoulders, giving him a congratulatory squeeze. "Thank you."

"It's just the right thing to do, Arthur. You're right. The villagers might have been foolish, but they've been badly led and who knows, maybe they tried to fight back, and failed. Maybe they were afraid."

"I can't let them starve because of the mistakes of their King," said Arthur. And he might have meant 'leader' or 'chieftain' or a number of other words, but what came out was King, and Merlin heard it, and sang with it, and was hardly surprised at all when Arthur kissed him.

At least at first. And by the time the surprise kicked in, he was more than happy to shove it away again and concentrate on Arthur's lips and there was the faintest suggestion of Arthur's tongue and _oh_. Well.

"Oh," Merlin said, when Arthur stopped. "Well."

"Oh!" Arthur blinked at him, as if recovering from an enchantment, and was about to draw back.

But Merlin was having none of that.

"Oh no you don't," he said, grabbing Arthur's shirt and pulling him back close. "We're not done yet. Not by a long way."

He kissed Arthur hard. Thoroughly. This time he slid his arms around Arthur's body, and slid his tongue in Arthur's mouth, and somehow was trying to crawl into Arthur's lap when Arthur stopped the kissing and said, "Let's take this to the bed."

*

The bed was glorious. It was big and soft and clean (of course it was clean, Merlin should know, he kept it that way) and Merlin and Arthur rolled around on it, tongues tangling, hands struggling with belts and laces and boots and all sorts of minor inconveniences, until finally Merlin lay panting on his back, Arthur propped up on his arms, looking down at him, eyes dark and glittery with lust.

"Do you want this?" Arthur asked. "Are you sure?"

Which Merlin thought was very lovely of him, because really, with Merlin squirming all pink and naked and so very hard underneath him there couldn't be much margin for doubt. But that wasn't the point, and Merlin knew it, so he said, "Yes. Are you?"

"Me? Of course I am, Merlin. Don't be ridiculous."

Merlin couldn't help but laugh.

Arthur was the most considerate, thoughtful lover Merlin had ever known, or even imagined. Which wasn't what he'd expected, necessarily, but it was what he'd hoped for. Despite the fact that they were both so very hard and frantic and needy with wanting each other, Arthur took time to explore every inch of Merlin's skin; trailing tender fingertips down his chest and belly, stroking his legs and hips, and kissing, oh, the kissing. Lips, tongues, teeth, throat, neck, tongues, teeth, lips and Merlin could barely breathe for how good it felt. It sent shocks down his spine; it made him wriggle and writhe and he heard noises from his own throat that he was sure he'd never heard before.

Arthur put Merlin's hand on Merlin's own cock, first, so he could watch how Merlin did it. It was the hottest thing Merlin had ever done for anyone. Arthur's eyes were keen and hungry, and when he licked his lips Merlin could have come on the spot. But he didn't, somehow, and then Arthur's hand was wrapped around his, and they moved together, Arthur's hand on Merlin's hand on Merlin's cock, and after a few strokes Merlin let his hand slip away and it was just Arthur, stroking him and squeezing perfect pressure, and Arthur's tongue was back in Merlin's mouth, lips, teeth, lips, teeth, tongue, tongue, tongue and Merlin came, hard; so, so hard; all push and _throb_ and pulse and Arthur gasping, rolling on his back as he let Merlin go, and when Merlin came to and saw that Arthur was licking his fingers, _licking Merlin off his fingers_ and Merlin growled and pounced on Arthur, Arthur watching again but this time as Merlin stroked _him_, so thick and hot and hard; Arthur started to rock his pelvis, to fuck Merlin's fist, but Merlin stopped him with one firm hand on his hip, made him lie there and take it. And for some reason, when Arthur convulsed, so beautiful, Merlin caught it in his palm and spooned up a fingerful, and rather than licking it himself he painted Arthur's lips with it, while Arthur was still coming, really, dry but racked with pleasure, and Arthur groaned from somewhere deep and magical and licked his lips.

Once Arthur's eyes were open wide enough to watch, Merlin sucked up the rest of Arthur's come from his hand, scooped it with his tongue, leaned over and fed it to Arthur, sticky and messy, making Arthur laugh, but it ended with a long, wet kiss that promised Merlin that this was most definitely not an end, but a beginning.

*

All in all, the whole seduction thing had gone rather well, Merlin thought. As he drifts off to sleep with Arthur sprawled untidily in his arms, Merlin slips into a dream-sense of warm bark and rising sap; of birdsong and green, green things, and if he didn't know better, he'd say he was purring like a tree**.

  


  


* * *

  


  
**Of course trees _do_ purr. It has an entirely different effect on the moles, however, which legend would claim explains why their eyesight is so poor.

_~fin~_


End file.
